when the glass breaks
by seijuuro
Summary: [Future! Canon] In which Sora has a sudden, terrifying revelation one morning when he wakes up to the bathroom door closed, for the very first time. Drabble.
1. Chapter 1

_[Future! Canon] In which Sora has a sudden, terrifying revelation one morning when he wakes up to the bathroom door closed, for the very first time._

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 **Disclaimer:** I do not own No Game No Life, even if I did there would be nothing that would be needed to fix, least at the hands of mine. All rights belong to Yuu Kamiya.

 **Warning:** PG 13, nothing too explicit. Although there would be innuendos of incest, please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction with no relation to real-life events or people whatsoever.

* * *

 _"Meh, from now on, it's just you and me then."_

They have seen each other in many different states, albeit the kind that two individuals can only do so after staying together for so many years. People would only look in and try to justify it however they want, but the truth is that if there were no Shiro, there would be no Sora, and vice versa. They cannot, would not, be separated from each other, simple as that.

But Sora knew better. He wouldn't voice it out, _hated, loathed_ the idea of it. But the truth is that even if they are living in a world where fairies, elves, demons and angels…coexist, time is unstoppable, and there will come a time when they will have to grow up, and move on.

Such a thing comes, unfortunately, on the day when he wakes up to an empty space next to him, and the bathroom door – closed, for the very first time.

The familiar surge of panic comes sooner than he would like to admit, although it quickly faded when his crusty eyes take in the wooden surface of the bathroom door, hearing the water running inside, and the feeling eventually turns into something akin to disbelief, confusion and fear all mixed up in one in his jumbled mind. And all of it only screams out a name, _Shiro_.

As if to answer his call, the _stupid, annoying, should not even be existing goddammit_ door clicks open, and comes out his step-sister. Her long, pale yet colorful hair is still damp, with wet strands sticking to her shirt's collar and neck, a towel drapes around her shoulders and her face is a little flushed – obvious result of standing under hot water for a while. The girl barely even notices that he is already awake, but instead goes straight to the mirror standing near the door of their room, and starts her usual task of drying out her long, flowy hair.

And that's when it hits Sora, so painfully, so sudden he almost withdraws a breath he didn't realize he was holding. His sister is growing up, and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

It wasn't like he never pictured the idea before, even back when she was still eleven, when he could still sit her onto his lap and wound his arms around her tiny frame as they entertained themselves with endless hours of video games on the computer. Sora knew it was coming, had expected for it to come. It just so happens that when he turned away for a moment, when preserving the human race and defeating the One True God of the game they have caught themselves in somehow managed to snag his attention away for just a while, his little sister has finally turned into a little lady.

It took a lot more power not to have a full-on seizure right then and there in the bed, but somehow he pulls it off. Pulling himself back together with plausible heroic effort while mentally cementing inside is definitely not a good start for the day, but Sora sucks it up and gets out of bed in what hopefully is his usual lazy demeanor. He's even managed a morning greeting with a grin to Shiro when passing by her on his way to the bathroom. Although the small curve of her pinkish lips when she replied does nothing to ease the inner destruction that was going on in his head. He dragged himself to the bathroom, snatched at his plastic cup on the sink and may have gone _just_ a little overbroad with the amount of toothpaste he put on the toothbrush. His mouth is still a bit foamy and tasted full of mint when he turns the showerhead on. And this time Sora's made sure to close the bathroom door too, just because.

It was going to be a long day already.

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Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think~


	2. Chapter 2

**SUMMARY:** [Future! Canon] In which Sora has a sudden, terrifying revelation one morning when he wakes up to the bathroom door closed, for the very first time.

 **WARNING:** PG 13, nothing too explicit. Although there would be innuendos of incest, please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction with no relation to real-life events or people whatsoever.

 **NOTES:** I'm baaack! Well, sort of. Still have work to do, still haven't finished them, but hey I got this piece done. Hopefully I'll be able to update this again soon, I like it, uh, I just like Sora and Shiro in general basically. That's kind of why we have this fic here in the first place. Probably going to change the title later, but welp, we'll see.

Enjoy?

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 **2**

The world has never been fair to them.

Granted, life in general is unfair to a lot of people, but Sora is pretty certain he and Shiro took the cake in having the screwed up side of a childhood, but mostly just mainly him. The memory doesn't leave. It flitters here and there, and stays at the back of his mind where it's rightfully supposed to be, for most of the time. There's a dark and unwanted side inside that he's mastered the ability to mask away behind fleeting smirks and sarcastic remarks, and Sora would rather it stayed that way for the rest of their life.

But as it turns out, the real world they've spent most of their life hiding away from actually does not sound as bad as all he's made it to be. At least there they didn't have people to please, policies to look over, or a kingdom to rule.

"Sora…Sora…Soraa!"

Sora blinks, breathes, and focuses his gaze back to what was in front of him, which was convenient, because Steph is leaning over him, and her blouse is loose enough for the collar to droop a little lower and tethering on great exposure of busty bosoms. He smirks without even looking up at her, not that the girl even notices.

"You're trailing off again," she says with a huff.

"Was I?" he comments dryly, leaning back on his chair – throne, and he has a fucking _throne_ now. Yep. "I didn't even notice."

The girl passes him a look, and promptly stands up straight again. Sora tries not to cough, and hides a lewd grin behind a glass of water. The cup's rim is ridged with Imanity's traditional cravings, cold and bumpy against his lips.

"Yes, this," she drops open a scroll and a sheet of paper rolls out in front of him. "is important. We need you to look through this new policy on growing corns in our crops and deem your approval before we make an official announcement to the public and put it to use."

"Wouldn't this be more of your thing? I mean, you are the King's granddaughter and all. People look up to you too, you know."

"But I'm not _their_ King now," the girl pouts, and it's cute. There's only so many reasons why he enjoys riding her up. "Seriously, Sora. It's been a few years. I thought you'd be more responsible by now. At this rate I might as well just go to Shiro instead."

That got her a look finally. Stephanie blinks, leans back on the heels of her shoes, and watches with great curiosity as the boy in front of her suddenly stalls in his seating, grinning mouth thinning back into a line. It disappears again before she can actually open her mouth.

"Say, Steph. Where is Shiro, anyways?" he asks, slumping back in his usual lazy demeanor with quick ease. Stephanie tries not to frown.

"I don't know. I saw her at the longue this morning," she says instead, and tilts her head in thoughts. "She didn't mention anything about going out. Aaah, not like she ever does...She really is growing up so quick. I should probably start asking. You never know with teenagers and all…"

"Steph, you're a teenager too."

With the body of a fucking _milf_ , but yeah, she's better off not knowing that.

"You know what I mean, Sora," she says, shaking her head. "But anyways, sign. Sign it! You're obviously not going to read all of this and the board already approves so just finish it. The things I do for you."

"There are many other things that are way more fun I'd like you to do for me," he drawls, and quickly scribbles a signature on the old, crisp paper. It's crooked, doesn't even remotely look like his name and hell, Steph's right. Shiro's definitely gonna be better at this paperwork thing. He doesn't tell her that, though, and leans back into the comfy plush in his throne and watches Steph fold the paper up, a pretty blush staining at her cheekbones.

"You're welcome."

He adds, and almost lets out a snicker when she jumps, face turning full blooming red. Stephanie doesn't scorn him for it though, just walks down the steps, blushes some more, rolls the paper scroll back and tethers away.

It's cute. Really cute. Sora likes it. Not many girls have done that in front of him in the real world. Well, not ever actually (not including the visual novels he guiltily immersed himself in when Shiro wasn't awake, of course). And the only one he's ever had actual contacts with was his step-sister, so that doesn't count.

But it must be normal then. It has to be. Because Sora, for the life of him, cannot bring himself to think of why today the sight of Stephanie blushing and stumbling with her words doesn't give him the mumbo jumbo like seeing his step-sister coming out of the shower does.

 _You know what I mean, Sora_. Stephanie has told him then. Sora just watches her retreating back, hears the tall, wooden door shut close, sits in his throne, crown on his arm, and thinks to himself – fuck.

.

.

.

He noticed the change when he turned 17.

Technically, he didn't think anything was wrong. It was normal to notice someone dressing differently when you've been living with them for practically almost your whole life. And it wasn't just a dress, it was fucking thigh highs. What kind of guy would _not_ notice thigh highs?!

Well, yeah. A brother probably shouldn't notice his sister wearing thigh highs. But how the hell was he supposed to know then? It wasn't like he had any other guys who were also brothers to ask. The only person he's ever actually talked to was the one wearing them.

He did know it was kind of pervy, and creepy, and all other kinds of wrong to stare, though, so he didn't make any comment, took the thing as it was and turned his focus back to the computer screen. Yeah, sure, his little sister wears a sailor uniform that's a tad too loose for his liking, has thigh highs that are a tad too adulty for his liking. It wasn't the end of the world (yet). And if that was also when Sora discovered his little obsession of a sister complex, he took it in grim silence and sober acceptance, morality and law forgotten and all.

It stopped being a problem after that, pretty much. Until it happened again, today. And it wasn't the clothes this time. It wasn't even the stupid door. It was just – it was –

Fucking hell.

Sora started counting back the time then, after Shiro hung up the towel and left their room. He counted back the years, the days, the months he spent turning away, infatuating with the new world, with the people and the women and the exotic in it – while his sister was basically hitting puberty with the speed of a fucking jaguar on a prey hunt. He's twenty-two this year. And Shiro, since her birthday just passed last summer, is finally fifteen. It's not going to take much longer until her skirts will start getting shorter, her smiles flirtier, and those stockings wrapping tighter around her thighs.

 _You know what I mean, Sora._

He thinks he's going to be sick.

.

.

.

He finds her in the library later in the afternoon.

It's not hard, mostly since if she's not besides him, she'll usually be besides a lamp and a book, or a towel and a hairdryer. Shiro may have changed – physically (he's still trying not to wince at the word), but her love for knowledge never falters. Now _that_ – is even cuter.

"I knew you'd be here."

He says out loud, and as expected, she doesn't jump, just glances up at him, and smiles a little. She doesn't really smile fully, doesn't even smile ever, actually. It's kind of nice to know he's the only one getting those tiny smiles the most.

"It's not hard," she replies, as if she read his mind. Huh, she kind of can. Not like spiritually or magically able to, she just sort of does. He sure as shit hopes she can't read _everything_ , though.

"What are you reading?" he asks instead, stepping inside. The afternoon sunlight is pouring in from the window so she doesn't have the lamp on, the book lying open in front of her, the pages crumpled at the edge and stained in that old, ancient kind of way. Most of the books here look like that, it's part of the appeal, he supposes, long-reigned empire and all.

"Just an old novel from this author," she says, and flips through another page. It's written in Imanity-go, he notices. "I like his style."

"Oh, what's it about?"

At this she falters, however, and Sora frowns at his spot. Shiro doesn't wince, or dart her eyes around other places but him. He stares.

"It's…" she finally says, after a while pausing, licks at her lips. "A romance, actually."

"A…romance?"

He repeats, and listens to the ring of the word in his head, realizes its meaning, and blinks at her, frown melting away.

"Oh, that's nice," he says, because, well, what else can he say. "Are you enjoying it so far?"

"Yes, it's quite good. Not too cliché or sugary coating," she nods, looking down at the pages. There's a quick pause, and then – "I like the main guy."

The main guy?

At the back of his mind, Sora figures he should probably start teasing her about boys and faking having his heart broken by now, but he realizes that he can't. He's standing in front of her, his sister, the only one he ever actually _belongs_ with, the stupid book between them, and feels himself splitting away as if he's being cut out by a piece of glass from the scene. Obscure and far-flung.

"…Ni?"

"That's – neat."

Her eyes are big and glassy when she looks up at him in surprise, as if not believing what he just said. Sora's kind of horrified too, but definitely not because of the same reason. There's a coil pulling tight at his chest and air needles prickling on his skin. His throat is running dry and he's pretty certain if he doesn't leave in about thirty seconds he's going to start to dry heave.

"Oooohh, Master Sora. I have something I think you'd like to see."

Jibril's voice echoes through the hall, high and clear in the air around them. Shiro shifts her gaze to the hall curiously, and Sora takes his chance. He passes her a quick grin that she probably didn't even catch, turns around and starts making his way back to the door.

"Aaaah, the duty of being a ruler. People always call for you," he yawns, fake but effective, and raises a hand back at her in greeting. "I'll see you later, Shiro."

It was a while before she finally replies.

"Okay," she says, soft and quiet. But the sound follows him all the way to the exit nonetheless. Sora closes the door between them, and it feels a little bit like leaving a piece of him dying back inside there somewhere.

He's not really looking forward to what tomorrow morning has to bring.

.

.

.

"Master, are you okay?"

Jibril is many things, and sometimes Sora just wishes being perceptive is not one of them.

"Hypothetically, can you live in denial for the rest of your life?"

He asks instead, because at times like these he kind of really needs an answer. His body is practically a jumbled, incoherent mess at the moment, and the only reason why he's not wheezing on the ground already is because of the years he's spent not to.

"I don't understand, Master. What is this about all of a sudden?" the girl frowns, hovering a few inches above him, her wings spread out wide and graceful.

"It's an interesting topic. I can't answer it because I've only lived like a third of my life so far, but you've got much longer," he shrugs, and bats at a few feathers when one of her wings flutter too close to his face. "Just something I've been wondering."

The girl stares at him, before taking on a frown again in thoughts. They were supposed to look at some intelligence she's managed to scrape out about Elven Gard's new international trading policy, but she doesn't seem to mind the change of topic, always obedient and ready for his queries even after all these years.

"I mean, I've never _lived_ like that so I can't give you much of an answer, I'm afraid," she says, and goes back to twirling in the air, her wavy, long mane of hair flowing after her every move. It's bright and pinker than Shiro's, but still long. His sister keeps her hair a little shorter now, but still long enough to reach her hips and he doesn't know why he keeps bringing her up in his mind.

"Hypothetically saying, I guess it is possible," the girl continues, and shrugs. "But denial never helps much, and in the long run…" The words are left hanging ominously, and Sora feels them dragging out to pull him down a well that's too deep to escape, reveling him in the future that's awaiting ahead.

"Anyways, what do you think about us doing trades with the Elves now?" she says instead, and he quickly follows. "It could be a chance to improve our economic status. They are the largest nation around here after all."

"Could be a good chance. If Clammy is not up to any scheme again, of course."

"Urgh, it's always the quiet ones that mess things up," she whines. When Sora simply grins back in reply, he feels his muscles tighten inside out.

.

.

.

He remembered when he was 18.

Here's the thing – they just fell fifty feet down from the sky, went into a world of fairies and elves and people with animal ears with only ten game rules to live by, practically forced a kingdom on themselves, and just celebrated their after-coronation party by jumping on the king-sized bed and hitting the soft mattress. There's a crown on his arm and a crown on her head, and Sora's never felt more alive than he was there then.

"We made it, Shiro," he breathes, and laughs. Laughs until ribcage practically rumbles in his chest and his laughter's the only sound he can hear.

 _We have somewhere to belong to. Me. You. A game to live by and a boss to defeat. Everything we ever wanted._

Shiro doesn't laugh, but she's practically glowing too. Her eyes are big and glassy, her cheeks are tainted pink and her mouth curves upward so much it feels like it can't even be tugged down. She curls herself to his side and Sora doesn't even realize the fast thumping of his heart until he feels her soft hair pressing at his jaw, her crown laying crooked and cool against the lower side of his face.

"I'm glad you're here with me, Ni…"

She whispers into his collarbone, and as if in reflex he feels his arms lifting themselves up and pulling her closer. She's eleven and small and strong, and the most precious thing he'll ever get to hold. He presses fingers to her back, lips to her hair, and knows right then and there that he will make sure it stays that way, as long he lives.

.

.

.

Eventually, they get separate beds.

They still can't stray far from each other, but Sora knows his boundaries. And letting a thirteen – fourteen-year-old-ish sleep in the same bed as him is kind of weird and not morally _right_ , even if that fourteen-year-old is his sister. Basically, apparently, boys and girls sharing a bed together after they turn ten are just weird, in general. Sora doesn't _exactly_ see how, and it's not like he and Shiro are anywhere near normal, but when Stephanie suggests pushing another bed to their bedroom, none of them disagrees.

So it was settled. The king-sized is his, with his long limbs and all, and there's another queen-sized bed shuffled to the opposite of it that Shiro sleeps in. Their room is huge and pretty and fancy as fuck, and the distance between the two beds is not even remotely wide enough to be considered far, so Sora keeps his mouth shut and slides into the covers that night while Shiro wordlessly crawls into hers.

He doesn't know how it happens, just that he'll start waking up in her bed, or her in his. Sometimes he'll be sleeping on the covers while she curls herself under them, and sometimes he'll be waking up with her hair in his face and his arm her head pillow. It's an endless circle that they dance around on and keep quiet with each other.

He guesses it finally turns into a habit, one so often and normal you don't even realize you're doing it. So in that one evening, when Shiro retreats away from one of their many boring meetings with the board, and Sora comes back to their room later, he finds her in his bed and under his covers, soundly sleeping the night away.

It was supposed to be cute, and he was supposed to feel loving and protective and warm. He _was_ feeling like that, but then it was during summer on that day, and Shiro was a week away from turning fifteen. And something about seeing her curling herself in his blanket and on his pillows, in the worn-out t-shirt she salvaged from his closet years ago and pajama shorts, that puts him off from any idea of joining her in the bed and passing the hell out.

He would sleep on her bed, but watching her doing the same thing in his bed makes him sort of horrified of what he'll be unconsciously doing in hers without her physically there. Her dainty foot was sticking out from the covers – the good ol' hot and cold recipe for sleeping – and he takes his chance. He stares at the way her brow wrinkles when he tickles her foot, runs his fingers up her leg before finally waking her up, with a slight nudge.

Shiro blinks at him when she opens her eyes. They're hidden in the dark and he can't see what expression she was wearing, but she pushes herself up nonetheless and limps back to her bed before tucking back into the covers and passing out again.

If she notices anything different in the next morning, she doesn't call him out on it. She just looks sometimes, when she thinks he doesn't notice but he does, and that – Sora thinks, is much, much worse.

.

.

.

(TBC)


	3. Chapter 3

**SUMMARY:** [Future! Canon] In which Sora has a sudden, terrifying revelation one morning when he wakes up to the bathroom door closed, for the very first time.

 **WARNING:** PG 13, nothing too explicit. Although there would be innuendos of incest, please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction with no relation to real-life events or people whatsoever.

 **NOTES** : Two updates on the same day yooo, I think I deserve a nice self-pat on the back. This is kinda short though, so I'll try to make it up on the next one :D

Hope you guys are still enjoying this so far! Thanks for reading and everything else~

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 **3**

Turning 20 sucked more than he expected.

Granted, there were celebrations – huge, extravagant celebrations, Imanity had damn well made sure their beloved King and Savior was treated with the best of the best. All other nations came to join in on the fun as well, bringing fancy treaties and expensive trading offers, so Sora sat with silk robes thwarting his frame and gold trinkets dangling off his limbs, clinking cups of liquor with men and catching exotic women passing him winks here and there throughout the night. His grin was plastered stuck on his face, and by the time people' voices started to tangle in between the flashing lights and white noises, he wanted nothing more than to lay his face down on the ground and never get up again.

There's a hole inside, that's deep and bottomless and drills him in whenever he inches his head just a bit higher than necessary to scan through the whole ball room, over the sea of ridiculous hair colors, animal ears and monstrous horns – all for a soft figure that never showed up.

It was stupid. He felt stupid. Things hadn't been the same for so long. But if he was hoping for too much, his smile hid it more than well enough.

.

.

.

It hits him like a brick.

They are back on the bed again, and Shiro is using his arm as her head cushion. He's twenty-two and lost and his sister is all grown up and so beautiful so gentle it physically _hurts_. She's lying under the soft covers, and him on them, facing each other. There's a piece of hair resting right on the bridge of her high, elegant nose, and he wordlessly tucks it behind her ear. She stirs at the notion, but only enough to inch herself closer to the warmth from him.

It is in that feeling – the tightness between his ribcage and the lost breath in his throat – that Sora just _knows._

When he returns her advance with an arm clutched around her back, he's a total, complete goner. She's engulfed herself with him, and Sora swears to Christ that this must be it, a sort of natal, far-flung telltale people always fantasize about in their search for closeness – of fingers, warm and slender, draping around his frame. Of a song, a voice ghosting across his senses. Only these are more violent, confused, proud – the flickering shifts of emotions are enough to throw him into a whirlwind until he harshly shuts it all out.

There's an invisible line to how many boundaries one can cross, and Sora's pretty damn sure he's cut through it faster than he can begin to count.

In the end, he only hangs his head, untucking his arms and brushing his thumb over her brow, leaning down and brushing his lips against her temple, squeezing his eyes shut so tight he thinks they might burst.

They don't (but his heart does).

.

.

.

The thing about disappointment, that when it gets turned around, it's the biggest slap in the face.

Sora got his later that night, quite literally, after the party and the people and the blinding lights. His chest felt too heavy and bloated, and he doubted it came just from the inane amount of alcohol he's chucked in. (Werebeasts sure as shit did not just look like beasts, but apparently drink like one too). Sleep. Just sleep. He'd told himself, flung the door open, and come face first into a birthday cake.

"Ni…Ah, sorry."

Sora blinked, ice frosting and mushy pastry sluicing down his face, and blinked again. There was his sister – the only one he'd been dying to see all night, with a walloped cake on her hands and pale brush ghosting over her cheeks.

"Shiro?" he coughed, and felt his heart swelling up so much it might as well just burst his chest open and by this time he probably wouldn't even care anymore. "Shiro?" he repeated, because he _had_ , had to be sure. "This – you've done all of this for me?"

"I guess," she shrugged, averting her eyes, which was definitely a _yes_ in his Shiro dictionary. "You ruined it though, Ni."

"I – was that why you didn't show up at the party?" he boggled, staring down at the floppy, wet mess on the round platter. "You were making this?"

Shiro didn't answer anymore, but Sora didn't need her to.

And he laughed. His chest was so tight and high-strung but his laugh was practically pushing all the pressure away. The whole day he was hoping, despairing when all he had to do was to go and just _look_ closer. _Of course of_ fucking _course –_

"You're impossible sometimes, Ni."

She's only said, moments later, although the syllables were muffled into his robes as he wound his arms around her. Sora didn't reply, but she didn't need him to.

If every birthday was like this, he would stay twenty forever.

.

.

.

He wakes in the morning and she's still sleeping, her head rolled to the side the pillow but still snuggled perfectly close to his side. He rubs his eyes, lifts his head, and scoops her up into his arms. Stephanie knocks on the door sometimes when there's an event coming up and she wants them up and ready early. They've never been caught together, but if there was one thing Sora's learned from life then it never hurts to be cautious.

He lets her slip under the cold covers, untangling her limbs from his neck and smiles when her face scrunches up in protest at the loss of warmth. For such an impassive, serious young girl, Shiro sure has a surprising amount of snark in her the older she grows, and Sora's still not sure if knowing that makes his predicament better or worse.

Her eyes flutter open as soon as his hands leave her, and she peers up at him silently.

It's that look again – the one she's been sporting lately; one that grates on his nerves and turns his insides out. He forces his mouth into a grin at her, and just hopes it's enough to overwrite anything else on his face.

"Sora, Shiro~" a knock on the door, and Sora goes _thank fuck_ in his head, before turning away from his sister and his traitorous innards. "Are you guys up? Wake up~"

"We're up."

He tells the door, and Stephanie chirps happily when he clicks it open. Blue eyes bright and effortlessly shiny.

"Let's go get ready! We have a long day ahead today."

She pokes her head in, flashing the other girl in bed a blinding smile before turning to him again. She doesn't say it, but he can practically read what she wants to speak at the look on her face.

 _You know what I mean, Sora_.

It's starting to become an inside joke for them, and Sora thinks he's starting to really really hate his life again.

.

.

.

(TBC)


	4. Chapter 4

**SUMMARY:** [Future! Canon] In which Sora has a sudden, terrifying revelation one morning when he wakes up to the bathroom door closed, for the very first time.

 **WARNING:** PG 13, nothing too explicit. Although there would be innuendos of incest, please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction with no relation to real-life events or people whatsoever.

 **NOTE:** it's been months...and I actually wrote all of this in 3 hours ahaahaa...ha. Okay yeah that's not funny. But heeey it's finally here~ I'm still alive, sort of dying because there are finals to study for, but alive. I'm like half-way done with the next chap for my other story, but it's definitely staying there until I ace these effin tests.

Hope you guys are doing well and still enjoying this. And hopefully I'll be back soon again~

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 **4.**

Growing up meant many things.

It's about moving out, studying higher, earning money, paying for bills…The same idea's been applied to people in such a long while, and simply impossible to get rid of anytime soon.

But Sora knew how his would've become. Growing up was watching his parents snarling, of picking up broken glass and falling custody papers. His fingers bled blood and his eyes dried tears, but nothing ever stopped them from walking out the door.

But he guessed he should be happy they did what they did, because a week later the best thing in his life came along.

He should have known luck would only last him for so long.

.

.

.

On her fourteenth birthday, Shiro asked to go out alone.

He shouldn't have been surprised, he really shouldn't. The tight stockings, sharper eyes, fuller hips were just the first few steps that finally led to this, but neither managed to stop him from choking on his water, tears brimming at his eyes, or the gargled words that spewed out from his mouth.

" – To where?"

She shrugged. She's been doing that a lot lately. Sora blamed Chlamy for it – her and her unperturbed, uncaring manner.

He should have asked for more, should have put himself in front of her, occupied her entire view cause that was all he ever wanted Shiro to see – him, them. It was a brick wall he's trying to push through with nothing but failing arms and battling breaths, and nothing was moving.

Shiro never replied, or looked back at him. Her eyes were as lucid and clear as ever, and all Sora could see was his broken smile on shattered glass.

"Sure." He said, and knew nothing he could say after this would mean anything more.

.

.

.

One afternoon, it's raining, pouring, the water smacking down like tiny, wet fists on the landscape, on the people.

Shiro is a quiet girl. Shiro doesn't go to him and ask for what she wants. Shiro spends days on books and curls soft fingers into his shirt when she knows he needs it. And when Shiro has her first heart break, it's the rain she comes to first.

He found her in their shared bed room, even though it hasn't been shared by both of them for a while. She's curled herself completely still and silent on the window sill, and he covertly took his time at the door – never stopping staring at her lithe, smooth mane of hair draping down her shoulders.

"It hurts."

She said, turning back to look at him. The rain is pit patting against the walls like sullen fists on a wooden desk, but Sora could have sworn all he heard was the buzzing in his heart and the sighs in her voice.

This time, he did put himself in front of her. Her eyes were clear and misty staring back at him, and he thinks he knew how it was paining.

"It hurts."

She repeated, muffled against his chest and warm against his heart. But then hot palms and tight grips were fisted behind his back, and Sora knew he could be numb and dead and he would still remember how all of this felt.

It was familiarity. It was home, and he would never ask for anything else for as long as he lived.

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.

.

(there's cracks in his voice, and it always breaks all over her)

For such an observant and cunning guy, her brother really is clueless.

She's finally fifteen – and everything feels so different. There's itches and flutters breaking all over her skin, under her skin, bloating her flesh out. There's curves smoothing out and pains sinking in. Stephanie and Jibril just gave her looks and passed her smirks, "puberty" – they tutted, grinning, assuring her that boys have it too – "Even Sora's voice is breaking!" but it's still the most horrible the worst thing how did other girls manage to put up with this –

But then there was the infatuation, that made her head dizzy and her hands quiver. Reading becomes harder, the castle becomes more suffocating, and just trying not to look at her brother because she knows he's looking at her and she can't afford to look back because her tummy feels funny and her heart is swelling – she just knew leaving was the only escape.

The boy was her age, an Imanity, with night black hair and sky blue eyes that always lingered when he bid her goodbye. His crooked grin and titled head made her hands curl into her clothes and Shiro just knew she wouldn't last a month staring starry-eyed after his tall, thin limbs. Limbs that curled around another girl the next week when she caught them walking around the city's market.

There's a hole in her too soft, too swollen heart, and it scratched against her throat and itched against her eyes – a hole that suddenly started filling itself in again when she pressed her face against familiar warmth and pushed her cold hands on board, firm back.

"Forget him, Shiro. You'll find your best one someday."

Stephanie told her once, squeezing her fingers tight like a lifeline. Shiro simply smiled back at the cheerful girl. She didn't answer, but she thinks she was starting to see why.

Sora's voice is breaking, and Shiro thinks she knew it's not that 'puberty' doing the talking.

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(TBC)


	5. Chapter 5

**SUMMARY:** [Future! Canon] In which Sora has a sudden, terrifying revelation one morning when he wakes up to the bathroom door closed, for the very first time.

 **WARNING:** PG 13, nothing too explicit. Although there would be innuendos of incest, please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction with no relation to real-life events or people whatsoever.

 **NOTE:** yay to new year new sins!

but I'm Vietnamese, and it ain't new year until it's Tet. There's still time to acquire more guilty pleasures. I am so going to the temple with my mom after this soon. VERY SOON.

Thanks for all your reading and support~~~

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 **5.**

Here's what Sora knows.

There is an infinity of secrets Sora persistently refuses to admit to himself. They're unorthodox in the why of their shamefulness, but he has always had his very own code of morality. Although the fact that whether or not his stares always end up lingering longer than needed after his not-so-little sister is in that bunch is a different story all together.

With the lies, the past tragedies he wears them proudly, like a badge. They're hidden behind his eyes and stayed tipping on his lips. Things that he utilizes to be a King. But with fears and desires, he keeps them away, like two sides of the same damming coin.

If he closes his eyes, he can see Shiro.

Here's what Sora knows.

He is totally, royally _fucked._

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She doesn't know, of course, at least he hopes so.

Puberty has done none of them good – not mentally. There is as much distance from Shiro's hips to her toes with her traitorously growing legs as there is the wider expanse of his shoulders. She doesn't grow up like anybody he's ever known, not that he knows many. She's just this quiet, flourishing young girl – all good grace and silent nature and it's one of the cutest thing ever. Imanity and the crown have done her well he guesses. He wishes he could say the same thing about himself.

Sora stops hating mirrors a long time ago, but that doesn't mean staring back at himself makes it any easier to breathe. So Shiro finally got hips and tits, and yeah, he'll say that out loud in his mind, fuck it, but what does that leave him with?

He thinks he's getting taller, although all the monster horns and pointy ears around him are starting to make him seriously doubt this. His biceps are somehow bloating out, his chest hurts, his throat hurts and aren't all of these supposed to pass quickly before puberty turns you hot?

"Boys don't grow perfectly into themselves before they fully turn like 25."

Stephanie has told him once, apparently it was in one of the books her Grandpa gave her. Sora guesses that was how the old man gave his granddaughter the birds and bees talk. At least he tried.

But he hates that it has to be like this. These nimble, annoying physical changes that they cannot will not talk to each other because it's just too personal too much of them breaking so they just don't. Ever.

They're both growing taller, and the height is like a ruler that measures up the distance between them. Sora doesn't know what to do.

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But apparently, Shiro does.

Maybe it's like a sister thing, that replaces the mom thing when moms aren't exactly around anymore. She just sees it right away whenever he's in one of his moods. Granted, she doesn't exactly do anything about it because she's still shy about her physical problems. She usually settles for giving him looks when she thinks he doesn't notice, asking the chefs to make extra food for his portions and dealing with the paperwork when she sees them first.

It's super cute and endearing, and Sora's heart is just always on the verge of shooting out of his ribcage nowadays.

And then one day, when it's super sunny and hot outside because if it were raining, there would be no way in hell Shiro would come crawling up next to him in his (their) bed, putting her arm as her head pillow as she faces him upfront, quiet but breathing softly.

It takes a while for Sora to open up his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

She asks, the whisper ghosting through his face and he smiles despite the raging wars in his head.

"Of course. Why would I not be?"

It's a lie, the whitest of all lies. Are people even honest nowadays when they say they're fine?

But Shiro doesn't response to that, she doesn't buy it, but she lets it go. She just lies there and watches him. It's one of those stares that she usually gives him again, like he's a new book that she's still sorting through the first few pages to grasp at its contents. Sora doesn't even try to breathe anymore.

Then she puts a hand on his bicep.

Inside, all hell breaks loose. Outside, Sora is a few seconds away from scrambling back and running across the castle to get away from her. But then as if she feels his flinch, she grips her hand a bit firmer, squeezing him in place.

"You're getting bigger."

She states flatly, like it's a basic observation. It's such a simple fact, she knows this long ago, Stephanie and Jibril talk about this long ago, hell, there's a whole celebration in the nation to tend to the knowledge that yes, he's getting bigger long ago.

But there's something that's different in that stare, in that way the words fall from her lips, in that way where she strokes the skin there with her nimble fingers, and Sora just knows his body is doing that thing where if girls ogle the little muscles in him will flex out and show off and it's so stupid and wrong and this cannot be happening _cannotcannot–_

"Yeah," he says, louder than he meant to, throatier than he expected. "Yeah."

"I like it."

Then she drops her hand, and closes her eyes, and leaves it at that.

Sora doesn't sleep for the rest of the night.

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There's a door separating the shower and the bedroom now, and Shiro cannot help but stare at it.

Sora takes cold showers now, the room is always cool as ice when she steps in after he finishes. She doesn't get it. The water is _cold_ , chilling to the bones. How can boys do this? He complains she switches the temperature until it's hot enough to melt metal, but it's not. She's asked. Stephanie, Jibril and even the servant girls take the same hot showers!

It's not until she accidentally reaches a book in the library, that's shoved deep into a corner, that she sees why. Imanity definitely has their way with words, some are just more erotic than the others.

When the bathroom door creeks open she flips herself back to the bed right away, a book opened readily in hand. Sora steps out with no steams from his body, reddish hair all mussed up and water droplets trailing down his neck and disappearing behind the collar of his loose T-shirt.

He tells her that he's done, draping a white towel over his wet messy hair, the words gargled with a toothbrush in his mouth. Shiro pretends to drop her book, and nod at him softly.

When the hot water slaps against her skin, she remembers the hard lines of his arm, the way the muscle spasm under her hand, the way the water traced down his throat.

Licking her lips, she reaches for the shower handle. She'll switch it back to hot and let it run a bit when she puts her clothes on later.

She's definitely putting that book back in its corner tomorrow.

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(TBC)


End file.
